


The Difference Between Sleeping And Passing Out

by SarineCassius



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hayffie, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:06:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7593943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarineCassius/pseuds/SarineCassius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haymitch Abernathy does not sleep, he passes out; and the nightmares are always the same. Same faces, same deaths, same pain...until one night, a new face appears...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Difference Between Sleeping And Passing Out

**This little piece of Hayffie fanfiction was the thing that got me out of Writer's Block, precisely at 5 am today, so please enjoy and let me know what you think.**

**Again, i apologize for any grammar mistakes you may find. Please let me know if there is any so i can fix it.**

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

**The Difference Between Sleeping and Passing Out**

Haymitch did not sleep. He passed out on a daily basis. Saying he sleeps is saying there's something physiological in what he does, passing out, on the other hand, was a mere effect of the obscene amounts of alcohol flowing through his system during daytime, which made more sense anyways... May God bless white liquor…

It was something to help with the nightmares, everyone knew that. Not that it actually kept them at bay, but well, it was something to do…

Nightmares were especially awful from the Reaping till the dead of his tributes, the new faces adding to the familiar ones of his family and his girl, dying in a different way every time he closed his eyes until he actually saw them dying on the arena, the very scene of their demises adding to his corpse plagued dreams for the rest of the year.

After his fair share of death tributes, he was sort of used to it by now, he expected their faces to appear the very night they had been reaped, and there they would stay, fixated on his alcohol infused brain for the rest of his life.

Same thing every night, his parents, his brother, his girl, the tributes from the Quell _(with special focus on Maysilee 'cause why the hell not)_ and then every boy and girl he had _"mentored"_. Same thing every time. Same order, same deaths, same pain…until the day it changed.

Somehow, the very bright, very bubbly, and _so very annoying_ Escort had entered his nightmare kingdom with a loud thud and a frightening sight of broken bones and spilled blood, her face smashed against the asphalt, her skull cracked open on the street. He woke up in an utter state of panic, trying to compose himself with his everyday routine, _mom is dead, dad is dead, brother is dead…is Effie dead?_ He couldn't breathe after that. Did they take her while he was passed out? He rose to his feet and stumbled his way to her bedroom, the metallic walls of the train helping him not to fall and guiding his way to her door. He stood there frightened, pondering on what to do, his forehead leaned on the cold door and the very moment he closed his eyes he saw her again, every fragile bone turned to pieces. He grabbed the doorknob and opened the bedroom as silently as his almost hungover state allowed him.

In the dark, he could not tell with certainty if the figure laying on the bed was actually Effie, so he got closer, as slow and steady and quiet as he was able to, he was very sure he did not want her to wake up and freak the hell out murdering his tympanum in the process.

He got to her bedside and only then he could clearly see her…her blonde _(really, blonde?)_ hair neatly braided, her eyes covered by a sleep mask, her body turned to the side on fetal position. He got his hand close to her face, feeling the warmth of her breath hit his fingers. Something within him came to rest that very moment, like his guts had finally decided to let go on the knot they got themselves into. She was alive. Sleeping soundly. _Safe._ Like everyone else was on that train at 4:30 am.

He went to the living area and poured himself a generous glass of whisky, sprawled on the sofa and drank until he passed out again…

Why in Panem's name was Effie Trinket on his nightmares on a daily basis now? He hated her, sort of. She was happy at all times, like, who does that? She was obsessed with manners, tidiness, fashion, and God only knew what other nonsense. She was Capitol at its finest. And yet she tried her best every year to help the tributes, even when she knew they had zero chances of surviving. She had to know that, right? Besides, why would she die? She was the Capitol's favorite model, they wouldn't kill her… Maybe it was Haymitch himself who would kill her, or someone in Twelve…she was definitively not a favorite there. That made more sense. He did not care anyways. Nevertheless, he made sure everyone on Twelve knew Effie Trinket was not to be touched as soon as he got off the train that year. Said some things about Snow threatening with more Peacekeepers, public executions and all. Maybe that way she would get out of his nightmares, he told himself. But she didn't.

She was imbedded there. Except during this time of the year she was not close, so he could not check if she was alive every night like he did on the train or the penthouse. He doubled his alcohol dose with no positive outcome. Three weeks after his arrival to Twelve that year, he called Chaff and asked for her number.

It took Chaff two more weeks to give him her number. He was pretty sure he had it the next day and decided to make him wait, he did not care, he could call her anytime now…to ease his waking moments…yeah, that.

This time she was floating lifeless on a shore, and he woke up trembling. He went down the stairs and grabbed the phone, his shaky hands looking for the piece of paper with Effie's number scribbled on it. He took a deep breath and dialed. It took three ringing tones for her to pick up the phone.

-Hello, this is Effie Trinket- he heard her voice on the speaker, all sleepy. He hung up, relieved.

It only took him 6 days to learn her number from memory. From then on, his fingers dialed on their own and he could cut off on the alcohol a little. He stopped trying to get to his bedroom at night, the passing out spot was the couch now, due to its proximity to the phone. Within a few months of night calls, he started wondering if she was scared of them, maybe he should talk for once and tell her it was him…He never did.

When he went back to the Capitol next year, Chaff told him in a casual tone but not related to the conversation whatsoever that people in the Capitol had ways to know who was calling, Caller ID or something of the sorts… he actually blushed and Chaff laughed at him for the rest of the Games. She never mentioned anything, and neither did he.

He settled to this new routine very quickly, and years went on…

Effie was having dinner at some fancy restaurant, with some fancy people, trying to pull some sponsors for the "promising young tribute" they had that year. He passed her very insistent invitation and drowned himself on alcohol while he watched the massive screen on the penthouse. Moments later, Haymitch heard her screaming, and he watched as the Peacekepers dragged her through the penthouse to the elevator

-Haymitch please! - She screamed

The elevator doors opened and they took her inside, she kept screaming, and he could not move. They shot her before the doors closed. That was it, he woke up with a scream that came from deep inside, his knife cutting through air only, his breathing agitated, sweat dripping from his terrified face…Where the fuck was Effie?

He made his way to her bedroom at fast pace and tried to calm himself a little before opening the door. He felt like he was about to die…Effie was not on her bed…the sheets were messy, her slippers were there, but she wasn't. Haymitch panicked, he really panicked. He entered the room and took a few steps…

-I'm here Haymitch, on the bathroom- her voice called

He sprinted there, to see with his own eyes. She was there, barefoot, drying her face with a white clean towel. He exhaled loudly. She was fine. Effie hung the towel and looked at him, he was speechless, she took his hand and put it on her chest, right where he could feel the steady beat of her heart. His eyes closed, and he took in every little piece of evidence he had of her being alive: the sound of her breathing, the beat of her heart, the warmth of her skin, the soft smell she emanated… was he dreaming? He opened his eyes, she was still there. He moved his fingers and touched the uncovered skin of her chest, he caressed the prominence of her clavicle, moved along her arm and reached her fingers again. Her hand was still a little wet from washing her face, and he smudged the water drops on her palm. She was alive. It felt so good, knowing that, it soothed his restless soul, it calmed his mind.

-I'm fine Haymitch- she whispered- Go back to sleep

-How did you….-she just looked at him, like saying " _really?",_ and he smiled- Right

-Why didn't you say anything?- he tried again

-I don't really think there's something to say about it, it makes you feel better, and I don't mind it, so…-he nodded

-I'm sorry Effie, I just….-

-I know, it's nothing really, I have them too…the nightmares I mean

-Oh…- they stayed silent for a moment

-What do you do after this?

-I drink myself till I black out again-

She sighed and he turned to get of the bathroom.

-Do you want to talk or something? Maybe I will bore you until you pass out- She murmured

He faced her again, and she walked towards him; making him feel like suddenly this was _too much_ , making him remember there were ears and eyes everywhere. He stepped back.

-You should sleep Effie, it's late and you've been partying…Wouldn't want you to be late tomorrow…you probably have a thousand more appointments with potential sponsors

-He died an hour ago Haymitch- his mouth suddenly felt dry- You can go home tomorrow if you want to

He pondered if he should go to the living room and drink all the liquor they had, or if he should stay with her. He was probably going to wake up and look for her anyways, he thought.

-In that case, you have all night to test your theory, Princess-

She made room for the both of them in the bed, and demanded he take his shoes off. They laid there face to face, and she talked to him about the sponsors, the stylists, the gamemakers, about Twelve, about her plans for next year…he listened, he touched her face or her shoulder every once in a while, her skin impossibly soft, he watched her lips, pink and wet, her smile, the light of sunrise reflected in her blue eyes, he laughed with her…

Haymitch Abernathy did not pass out that night, he slept. The nightmares were still there, and when he woke up, so was Effie.

**Hayffie is love, Hayffie is life...**


End file.
